We talk about Jesus.
The Jesus who hangs out with drug addicts and tax collectors and prostitutes.
The Jesus who sits on the couch, slouched, legs stretched out drinking tap water out of a class on a coaster with a picture of a wombat, talking to us. "Yeah, I know it's hard. I got it."

We read books. Me, Let Me Be A Woman by Elisabeth Elliot, and mama, God Behaving Badly by David T. Lamb.

Water in glasses, the ice all melted, the windows open, two dragonfly type bugs mating on the window screen, can't see outside but sitting right next to it, listening to the beginnings of summer bugs, almost chilly.